Denial
by Aussie73
Summary: It ain't just a river in Egypt.


_This is my first JC fic and also my first Voyager fic. I hope I'm not too out of character. Constructive criticism welcomed but, PLEASE, no flames. Small references to the film "Star Trek: Nemesis", and the novels "Homecoming" and "The Farther Shore" by Christie Golden. Essential reading, as is the two-part sequel "Spirit Walk"._

_Now … on with the fic!_

* * *

My name is Kathryn Janeway, and I am a Starfleet Captain in command of the _USS Voyager._

Seven years ago, I was assigned on a mission to the Badlands to apprehend the crew of the Maquis ship _Liberty_.

What a strange twist Fate had in store for us!

Thanks to the machinations of an entity known as the Caretaker, my crew and I found ourselves flung to the far reaches of the Delta Quadrant.

Along with the aforementioned Maquis.

The exigency of our situation meant we had to work together, but the crews melded together with a surprising rapidity.

And as for Chakotay …

When the _Liberty_'s Captain beamed on board, little did I realize that I'd met the man who would become one of my truest, closest friends in a very long time.

The crews … our crew thinks we don't know how we feel about each other. Of course we know. How could we not?

But, as _Voyager_'s commanding officer, I can't pursue a relationship with a subordinate. And we've come to accept that. He's had affairs, I've had affairs. We are very good friends, with an attraction that simmers on the back burner, ignored for the most part.

For the most part.

Of course, I can almost hear one of Tom Paris' 20th century holo-characters saying "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt."

But denial is what we continue to do. Even to ourselves.

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Several months later, we have finally returned to Federation space. He's with Seven of Nine now, and they are taking things slowly, building up to an all-out relationship. Very much the Commander's physical type – blonde and beautiful – she is still removed from her stolen humanity and doesn't seem a good match for him.

_Sour grapes, anyone?_

No. I have chosen to be alone. Why should I inflict that on him also? Seven isn't Starfleet – she was technically never under his command, and she seems to be happy with him.

When I contrast her shy – yet sweet – hesitance in her interactions with the Commander to her direct, often confrontational, nature, I can see the lovely woman Annika Hansen should have been.

So I wish them well and begin to pick up the pieces of the life I left behind.

I am promoted to the Admiralty and my former crew and I deal with a would-be Borg Queen. It's good to work with them again, and I have great pleasure in offering Chakotay command of _Voyager_.

He and Seven have split up – very amicably – and Seven is working with the Doctor. He still harbors a crush on her, though I doubt it will ever be reciprocated. But there are stranger pairings. No-one would have thought the fiery B'Elanna Torres and the insouciant Tom Paris could last, yet they are now married, have a daughter and are living on Boreth.

As for me …?

Well, I've hardly been living in seclusion. Thankfully, the media frenzy surrounding _Voyager_'s return has died down, being supplanted by trouble in the Romulan Empire that robbed my friend Jean-Luc Picard of one of his closest friends.

I have renewed old acquaintances, made new friends and established myself as a formidable presence at Starfleet Headquarters. And, just to add to that image …

I smirk at myself in the mirror. I can't say I think much of the new uniform, but it does go rather well with the 'bun of steel', which has recently made a comeback.

Aside: would you believe it; sweet, lovable, innocent Harry Kim coined that phrase. The boy was contaminated early and irreversibly by his friendship with a smart-aleck helm officer.

The enunciator to my Starfleet-issue apartment chimes and I open the door with a smile. "Chakotay," I greet my former First Officer. "How are you?"

He frowns, making his tattoo crinkle interestingly. "Oh now, that will never do," he says.

And before I can ask what he means, his hands are in my hair, unraveling the bun, and his lips are on mine.

I gasp in surprise, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth to explore.

With a small mewl, I grasp his rear end to pull him closer, and lose myself in the moment.

After all, you can only live in denial for so long.

And as we collapse together, naked, sated and slick with sweat, I realize that denial is completely over-rated.


End file.
